Tomorrow
by Mietta
Summary: Well this was a one-shot, and now it's turning into a multi-chapter fic, so yeah. Post 2x18, Lizzington, is obviously turning AU as the show goes on. Having a lot of fun with this, so enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Fully disclaimed. With such a perfect prompt given, I just couldn't help myself. I hope that some form of this comes to pass when the next episode airs. We all need a bedside scene, ASAP! If Red being shot doesn't send Liz into a spiral down "I can't lose him" lane, then I'm going to throw something. These two need to stop being such stubborn babies. As usual, getting into Liz's head is SO much fun. Writing Dembe is fun as well. Don't drown in feels ;)**

It wasn't real, she told herself. This was all a dream.

But it wasn't, and as she climbed into the ambulance after him, her whole body was cold and numb.

She sat out of the way and watched in silence as the paramedics rushed to stabilize him as the ambulance screamed down the road. Her eyes stayed fixed on his face, and she took in every detail there as if she would never see it again. The scarlet red of his blood that covered one side of his face was hard to ignore, but she stubbornly made her eyes focus on everything but. His eyes, now closed, hooded and green and not hard to imagine sparkling with life. His nose…those lips that she always caught herself looking at. The shape of his hairline and the line of his jaw. Features that were usually so well put together, now slack, pale, and vulnerable.

Something that _she_ had caused.

Somewhere, the rational part of her brain tried to convince her that it couldn't be her fault. She wasn't the one who pulled the trigger. But the guilt and the sick feeling in her stomach was currently overriding any logical thought process in her brain. If only she had given him that damn Fulcrum when he asked. He had told her it was a matter of life or death now, and she had brushed it off, thinking it was a ploy to play to her feelings and get her to hand it over. Now she saw that it wasn't, and it had taken a bullet to the chest to get her to see reason.

She was stupid. So, so stupid. Her stubbornness had ruled over what her heart had been screaming at her during that phone call, and it had cost him dearly. Now here he was, fighting for his life, and she was to blame.

That ambulance ride was the longest of her life. Minutes seemed like hours, and she willed for them to be at the hospital already, for him to open his eyes and assure her with his usual confident air that it was just a scratch. She would give anything to see those eyes open again, to watch his face light up as he regaled her with one of his stories. He was frustrating and grated on her nerves, but she cared about him, and even his admission about Tom hadn't changed that.

That was another matter for her brain to absorb in this chaos: Tom.

Tom had told her that it was Reddington who had given him the passports. Reddington had told her it was one of his contacts that Tom had purchased them from. Who was she to believe? The man who had lied throughout the entirety of their marriage, or the man who had never lied to her? She believed what she had told Tom about Red never lying to her; he had proved time and again that he hadn't. That didn't mean he didn't withhold information from her, of course, but what he did answer and what truths he did tell her, he did not lie about. So when she had left Tom, she had been determined to find out some answers. To confront Red and ask him point blank if he had given the passports to Tom. She didn't think he had and that Tom was twisting the story to make himself look good, but she had to know for sure for her own sanity.

What she didn't expect was the admission that he had put Tom in her life.

It had been like a slap in the face. She hadn't even been able to process it before she recoiled, protecting her emotions and closing off with a nearly audible _snap_ as she backed away from him. Her mind had been reeling, and she couldn't listen to anything else he had to say. Maybe she wanted to hear him explain. Maybe she didn't. But at that moment, she wasn't able to process any coherent thought, and had simply shoved the Fulcrum at him and run, ignoring his pleading calls. All she could make herself do was run, retreat, _something_…anything to get away from it all.

Then as he'd turned away, the shot had rang out and everything had snapped into hyper focus as the world came to a crashing halt. She found herself crying out, running to him, trying to do anything she could to help. At that moment, all thoughts of Tom had been thrown out of her head, and all she could focus on was Red coughing up blood and struggling to breathe in front of her. She'd used her scarf to try and staunch the flow of blood, and once that was soaked she just pressed her hands as hard as she could to his chest with Dembe's help. Shooting had been second nature, instinct; she was just shooting in the general direction that she sensed movement, and following Dembe's lead. She remembered him dialing the ambulance, and then endless waiting for the sirens in the distance to arrive.

It was a swirl of chaos all up until the ambulance had arrived, and now as she sat silently next to him on the drive, covered in his blood, her head started to pound relentlessly. How was she supposed to deal with all of this? She wanted to click her brain off from all of this turmoil and emotion. But she couldn't, so she kept focusing instead on just his face, and it was enough to distract her for the time being. Thinking about Tom would come later.

They finally arrived, and the flurry of activity that followed had her functioning like a robot as she climbed out of the ambulance and went with him as far as they would allow. They rushed him in to surgery and she was left waiting with Dembe for news. He had followed them with the car, and looked visibly shaken. She didn't think she had ever seen the man look as distraught as he did now. He cared for Red just as she did, and she knew they had a long history together. Red was likely Dembe's only family in this world, and he was at risk of losing that. Seeing him like this helped to shake the shock from her limbs and her mental processing; she had business to attend to.

She placed a hand over his and gave it a squeeze, and he gave her a nod and a grateful look in return. That was all she was going to get right now in terms of a response, so she gathered herself and walked back out through the hospital doors to make the necessary calls away from prying eyes and ears.

After a brief rundown to Cooper about the situation, she felt relieved when he assured her that they would do whatever was necessary to clean up this mess.

"Agent Keen, are you alright? Do I even want to know what you were doing meeting up with him without approval?"

"Sir, I was just as much in the dark about this as you are. He contacted me and simply told me that he wanted to meet, but it had to be now and I couldn't contact anyone for fear of endangering an asset should the information get out. I believed it to be of the utmost importance to meet with him, and he assured me that I would be able to pass along the information in due time. So I decided that it was in the best interest of the task force to do so." The lie rolled easily off of her tongue, and she didn't take the time to question it. It was basically true. She had just neglected to tell him certain details. Namely that the Fulcrum was involved, and she herself had set up the meeting, not Red. Cooper didn't need to know that, and although she hated lying to him, it was necessary in this case.

"We'll speak about this more later," he assured her. "You didn't answer me before. Are you alright?"

_No, _she wanted to tell him. "Yes. I could do with some clothes, though," she added as an afterthought, looking down at herself. She didn't need to be stared at more than she was already. Her bloodied clothes were drawing attention.

"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, sit tight for now. We're working to stabilize the situation." He cut the call off and she sighed as she leaned back against the wall of the building.

The call had brought her back to reality a bit, and she closed her eyes and tried to get a handle on her mental state. She regulated her breathing and tried to think rationally. He was being cared for. He would get the best attention money could buy. _He would be okay._

But what if he wasn't? What if she lost him? What if…

No. She would not think like that, would not let her thoughts travel down that path. Steeling herself, she walked back in and found the situation unchanged. Dembe sat there silently, staring at the wall with his hands clasped together. He was just as rough looking as she was, she realized. Satisfied that he was okay for now, she followed signs to the bathroom and went about cleaning herself up. Her hands and arms were sticky with blood, and she scrubbed until the water ran clear instead of red. She scrubbed them so much that her skin was pink and tingling by the time she was done, yet she didn't feel clean. It was hard to erase the memory of so much blood on her hands, both literally and figuratively.

Next she set about washing her face and getting her hair in as much order as she could. Finger combing would have to do for now until she could get a hold of a brush. At least it was shorter now after having cut it a few months back, making it easier to deal with. Looking at her reflection, she decided that she looked as presentable as was to be expected. There was still blood on her clothes, but at least she looked a lot better than she had. The clothes would be taken care of later. They weren't of much importance in the grand scheme of it all, anyway.

Walking back out, she sat down next to Dembe again, and he gave her a cursory glance as he always did. Never failing to be on guard and protecting her, even when all hell had broken loose. She knew that she was safe by his side, no matter how this all turned out.

"The bathroom is through those doors," she said quietly, and gestured to her left down the hallway. He looked at her in confusion, and she pointedly looked at his appearance. "Go clean yourself up. I'll be fine, and it's going to be a while before we hear anything."

Sitting there for a minute longer, he seemed to ponder something before giving her a nod of assent and leaving her alone.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, trying to weave through all of the thoughts that had been trying to get her attention earlier. Tom's supposed "truth" and Red's admission of putting him in her life. What the hell had her life become that she was debating on which criminal to trust? This was definitely _not_ what she had seen herself getting into when she agreed to work with Reddington and the task force. The past 2 years had been full of so many twists and turns, ups and downs, that she really shouldn't be surprised by anything anymore. Yet, she found that things still managed to surprise her. Would it ever stop? Would she ever grow to accept such insanity?

Perhaps one day she would. But today was not that day, and she had to move past the thought of how ridiculous this all was in order to think clearly. If she was being honest, she was inclined to believe Reddington more than Tom. Perhaps Tom was telling some version of the truth, one that he understood to be true, but she knew that Red was telling her the actual truth. Or at least he was trying to before he got shot. The thought made her cringe, and she stubbornly pushed the visual of him falling to the ground out of her mind. Yes, Red was shot. Yes, it was her fault. Before she started to think about that, however, she had to come to terms with what he had said before all had gone to hell.

He had placed Tom in her life. She didn't know why, but it made her sick to think that he had had Tom marry her in order to manipulate her. How could someone who claimed to care about her do that? She had no idea, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let him get out of telling her. Her reaction to it all had been spurred by emotion and disbelief, and she hadn't wanted to listen to his explanation. The more she thought about it, however, the more she wanted to know. How dare he? How _dare_ he do this to her? Anger fought with hurt as she tried in vain to decide whether she was mad that he was at fault for this whole Tom fiasco, or hurt that he would betray her in such a way. Perhaps it was a bit of both. She figured she was allowed to be angry at him. It looked as though he had expected her reaction, as much as he tried to get her to listen to his explanation. He knew, and yet he still told her anyway.

The thought made her pause. He had told her, fully knowing what her reaction would be, and to tell her anyway…what was his angle? Did he even have an angle? Was it possible he was just tired of keeping things from her? That didn't seem in character for him, but perhaps that was the case. It was always hard to tell with him. She would think he was being genuine, and then doubt would creep into her mind. Maybe it was just her suspicious and untrusting nature at play, she rationalized. Yet he had also done some things to make her always be on her toes around him, so she figured her suspicions weren't totally unwarranted. One thing she knew for sure, though: she trusted him to not lie to her, and she doubted such an admission from him was a lie.

Sometime later, she felt herself being shaken gently awake, and she immediately awoke, all senses on alert. Damn it all, she must have fallen asleep. The physical and mental exhaustion must have finally taken its toll. She realized it was Dembe shaking her, and he was looking at her with wide eyes.

"They have him in a room. He's still unconscious, but they said we can see him."

She was out of her seat before he had finished, and the nurse who had approached them led her to his room, with Dembe close behind.

Instructing them to be quiet and calm so as not to disturb him, she left them alone and Liz found herself standing at the door, unable to move.

There he was, lying in a hospital bed, looking like death warmed over. He was pale and still, pillowed up and covered with a blanket. The various beeps and trills of the monitors connected to him served as background noise, and she felt herself swallow the lump in her throat. He looked so damn vulnerable that she felt an ache in her chest. Feeling vulnerable was the one thing he abhorred most, and it pained her to think that he was this way because of _her_. She was the reason he was here right now, the reason he was shot. The trigger hadn't been pulled by her finger, but it may as well have been. What the hell had she been thinking?

She must have made some sort of noise, because Dembe placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

"It will be okay, Agent Keen," he said quietly, but his voice seemed to catch. "Raymond will be okay. Look at me," he ordered, and she turned to look at him. "Whenever the time comes and he is ready to talk, listen to him. He has never cared for someone more deeply than he cares for you. When he tells you to let him explain about Tom, listen to him. It is important. It is not what you think. _Listen to him_."

It was the most she had ever heard Dembe speak, and he was looking at her with such earnest now that she found herself rocked to her core. If Dembe of all people was telling her to listen to Red, this must be something big. Dembe had no reason to lead her astray, and had always done his best to protect her. Reddington may have ordered him to, but she sensed that he would have done it anyway even if it wasn't his job. She was good at reading people, at least when it came to everyone except Reddington, and she could sense this about him. He was deeply loyal, and committed to those he felt he owed such loyalty to. For some reason, she was included in this, and she found that she trusted him.

Red was a criminal, yes, but he had his morals. One of those was not lying to her, and she had known for a long time without even him admitting to it that she was the exception to all of his rules. He'd given her hints and admissions along the way, enough for her to now finally understand that he would, quite literally, die for her. The realization left her struggling to breathe in that moment, and looking into Dembe's eyes she knew her realization was spot on.

Raymond Reddington was more than willing to die for her, and he would never intentionally hurt her. She didn't know how she felt about him inserting Tom into her life, but when he was ready to explain, she would listen. She owed him that much.

Turning away from Dembe, she strode across the room and pulled the chair in the corner over to his bedside. His face was slack, as if he was sleeping peacefully and not doped up on drugs, and she noticed that this was the most relaxed he had ever appeared to her. The mask was always in place, and she had never been able to see the man underneath what he presented except in rare moments of vulnerability. This was one of those times, even if it wasn't by his own volition. For the first time, she found herself wanting to protect this vulnerable man from all who would bear him ill, just as he had done for her. Protect him from all of the danger that tomorrow would inevitably bring.

Knowing that tomorrow was never assured for anyone, particularly the Concierge of Crime, and finding that she no longer cared what anyone thought, she laced her fingers with his as he lay fighting for his life in the hospital bed.

She would be here when tomorrow came, when he was ready to explain.

And she would listen.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Fully disclaimed. This chapter was a bit harder to write, as I wasn't really sure how the mechanics worked of getting Red out, how the higher-ups would react, and even how Samar and Ressler would come into play. I just tried to go with what I know based off of the show. Maybe not the most reliable source, but hey, I tried! Hope the characterization of everyone is on point. This chapter is a bit less angsty, and I decided to be nice at the end even if it is still a cliffhanger. Have fun reading!**

"Agent Keen."

She heard the soft, firm voice as if from a distance, and she had to shake her head to get back to her senses. Her mind had been far away, and she wasn't sure how long she had been sitting here holding Red's hand. Turning, she saw Dembe standing by the door, looking out into the hallway at two figures hurrying towards them.

Ressler's tall, ginger form was unmistakable, as was Samar's short petite one. The cavalry had arrived, and it looked as though her quiet moments with Red had come to an end. She rose and met them at the door with a straight back and a cool, collected demeanor. Slipping into her role as an FBI agent was like turning on a switch; it wasn't hard, and she relished being able to separate herself from her emotions for a little while.

They both had varying amounts of concern flicker across their features as they took her in, and Ressler's mouth flattened into a thin line, jaw hardening. He was clearly angry that the situation was out of his control, something he hated. Protective and never one to back down from a fight, she knew he was kicking himself for not being there at her side. They'd forged a strong friendship in the past two years, and worked well together as partners. She hated to see him vulnerable just as much as he hated to see her the same way. He also didn't approve of Reddington taking what he wanted, when he wanted, and no doubt blamed him for this fiasco.

Samar was more guarded, her face a careful mix of concern and detachment; a perfect poker face. They both had a healthy respect for each other, but Liz had to admit that she wasn't sure if she entirely trusted her when it came to the task force. She worked well with them and was a valuable team member, yes, but Liz had a feeling that she was working with them purely because Reddington wanted someone on the inside. For intel or to be an extra set of eyes on her, she wasn't sure. Maybe it was a bit of both. She noticed the other woman had a small black backpack with her.

"You look like hell," Samar commented as they reached the door, and handed Liz the backpack. "Clothes, as requested."

"What the hell happened, Keen?" Ressler asked in a low voice. "How did he get _shot_?"

They both looked at her, waiting for answers that she wasn't sure she could give. She wasn't even sure herself what had gone down, with the only image in her mind of him falling and covered in blood. So much blood…

"I don't know how or why, and I never got a visual on the shooter," she replied, keeping her voice just as low. "Likely from an upper level window from across the street. Could've been a sniper, but I doubt that's the case or else he'd be dead right now. We were meeting on a side street, and it was fairly open. It could have come from anywhere, from anyone. I fired off a few shots in the general direction that I thought the shot came from, but they likely didn't make contact. Dembe, did you see anything?" Liz asked, turning to the body guard. He had been quietly standing beside her, keeping watch and listening to their conversation.

"No. But I do know one thing—they will not leave him alone. The longer he stays here, the more danger he is in. They will find him, and they will kill him. Someone does not order a hit on Raymond and leave the job unfinished. He must be moved." His eyes looked at each of the three agents in turn, and they had all gone very quiet. Liz was used to Dembe speaking, at least minimally—she couldn't remember the last time he had addressed anyone else on the team, if he ever had. Never mind the information that he had just decided to share, Ressler and Samar were still trying to get used to the fact that he had _talked_.

"Dembe's right. Reddington has eyes and ears wherever he goes; doubtless his enemies do as well. It's already been too long. We need to get him to a secure area as soon as possible—somewhere he has access to round-the-clock care and security."

"How on earth are we going to do that, Keen?" Ressler asked with a look of disbelief on his face. "As far as anyone is aware, this task force doesn't exist. Reddington isn't the only one in danger here—anyone associated with him is at risk. If it gets out that he's working with the FBI, everything is ruined. They're already having trouble keeping things quiet as is. Moving him means using resources they don't want to use. They'd rather lock down this hospital and have us here guarding him than involve more people, time, and money trying to facilitate him when all the means for his survival are right here." He said the last bit with an annoyed look on his face, like the last thing he wanted to be doing was playing babysitter to the Concierge of Crime.

He was right, and that was the problem. She knew that the higher-ups would only do so much as they thought necessary, and nothing more. Too bad that in this case, their idea of "necessary" wasn't going to be anywhere near enough. If someone wanted Raymond Reddington dead, he was going to end up that way unless something was done, and quickly.

"If you think they will be able to stop whoever is after him, you are dead wrong. We've seen the ways Reddington manipulates things to suit his own interests, uses his own means to get around us when we don't give him what he wants—these are powerful people we are dealing with and I doubt something as trivial as a high-security lock down will stop them, whoever they are. You know that if he was faced with a similar situation and had to get to a target in here, he would be successful."

This time, it was her turn to be met with shocked silence. Samar had a resigned look on her face, like she knew what the next step had to be; she was familiar with Red's circle, after all. She knew how this sort of thing worked. Ressler just looked at her, brow furrowed and a deepening frown dominating his features. He still wasn't used to having to go around the law, whereas Liz was starting to become unsettlingly at ease with it. She could tell he knew exactly what she was implying, and he didn't like it one bit.

Well that was just too damn bad.

"He needs his own people. They can get him out of this and do what's necessary to erase the fact that he was ever here. They will make him vanish, which is what he needs to do. If we want a hope of getting him out of this alive, then this needs to be done," she told him firmly, giving him a hard look. Red's life was her responsibility now, and she sure as hell wasn't going to sit by and watch as one poor decision cost him his life. That had already nearly happened today, and it was not going to happen again.

She turned to Dembe, and he was already pulling out his phone, stepping away to make the necessary calls.

"Cooper isn't going to like this, Liz," Ressler warned, but she could tell he was just saying it out of duty rather than continuing to argue with her. He knew as well as she did that once she made up her mind about something, there was no convincing her otherwise. Even if he hated to admit it, he also knew she was right.

"No, but he can do damage control, which is what we need at this point. Get him on the phone. There's no use delaying the inevitable," she sighed, and Samar nodded as she pulled out her phone.

His voice was harsh after Samar gave it to her, following a brief exchange.

"Agent Keen, explain to me how the hell you expect me to inform the bureau that a high-profile criminal informant _just disappeared_ right from under our noses? It was hard enough when he went off the radar before, and now you expect me to just go along with this? His immunity deal is on rocky water as it is, and it only works if he keeps up his end. If he disappears and fails to return, the entire task force will be to blame. Do you realize what is at stake here?"

"Yes sir, I do. I know the precarious position this will put us in, and I apologize for that. But there is no other option. This is the best way to protect the task force, as well as Reddington." She paused for a minute, wondering how to phrase what she was about to say next. This was the difficult part. "Besides…he won't be without federal eyes on him. Tell the bureau that you have an agent going under cover to keep eyes and ears on him."

Ressler's head whipped around from where he had been quietly talking with Samar, and his eyes widened in astonishment. Samar raised a brow, but she didn't look all that surprised. Closing her eyes so that she didn't have to deal with looking at her partner's face, she waited as tense silence answered her from the other end of the line. Thank God she was just talking to Cooper on the phone; this would be so much harder if she had to speak to him face-to-face. At least on the phone, it was easier to hide her uncertainty.

When Cooper spoke again, his voice was tightly controlled. "You are aware that this means you will have no contact with us unless you initiate it; we will not be able to help you. You will be, more or less, on your own. Are you certain of this?"

_Of course not_, she thought, but replied without hesitation, "Yes. It is necessary, and I will have protection from Reddington's people. He won't…he won't let any harm come to me. He's proved that on a number of occasions, and I don't believe this time will be any different." She hoped her discomfort in that admittance didn't relay through the line. It was one thing knowing something to be true; it was another all together to voice it out loud.

"Very well. I trust your judgment. I'll handle things on this end. Tell Agents Ressler and Navabi that they are to immediately report back here. And…Liz? Be careful." His voice softened at the end, and she smiled. Cooper was a hardened, no nonsense kind of guy, but he cared about her and the rest of the team. They were his people in more ways than one. He was responsible for them at work, but he also felt responsible for them on a personal level. Liz was comforted by the fact that he had her back, no matter what. He knew she was fully capable of handling herself, but his concern made her feel braver.

"I will," she replied, then added more quietly so that only he could hear, "You know he's not going anywhere. I won't let him abandon his end of the deal, even if I have to drag him back myself."

"Agent Keen, I highly doubt that will be necessary. For one thing, he's not so stupid that he will give up his one avenue of freedom. And for another…well, I find it very unlikely he will leave you," he said simply, and she bit her lip. If it was apparent to Cooper, it was apparent to the rest of the task force as well. Reddington had made it no secret that she was of value to him. Whether they realized that she found _him_ valuable…well, that was another matter altogether.

"Understood, sir. I will contact you when I'm able." She ended the call, and handed Samar's phone back to her.

"Liz, I don't—"

"Save it, Ressler. It's happening. Cooper said to report to the Post Office immediately," she interrupted him swiftly, and gave him her own phone. "Take this. I'll have to use a secure line that can't be tracked when I get the chance. And I _will_ have the chance," she reiterated, giving him a pointed look. "I'm going to be fine."

"You can reassure me all you want; I still don't like it," he said tersely, but after a moment he seemed to soften. "Don't do anything stupid, Keen. You hear me?"

"I won't. Now go, before you two get mixed up in whatever is about to go down."

Ressler turned on his heel without another word, but Samar stepped up to her and squeezed her shoulder in what was meant to be a reassuring gesture. Her smile of encouragement was forced and when she spoke her lips barely moved.

"The backpack. Remember to change clothes. I hope they fit." She stepped back and said in a more normal tone, "Good luck, and be safe. Let us know you're okay when you can." With that, she hurriedly followed Ressler down the hallway.

Liz kept her face carefully composed with a grateful smile, and turned back to Dembe once they had gone.

"Mr. Kaplan is on the way with assistance," he told her, and gestured back into the room. "Stay with Raymond for now. I'll be back."

Liz nodded and stepped back into the room as he hurried away, and resumed her place beside Red's bed, this time turning the chair so she was facing the door. Hooking the backpack on the chair, she removed her gun from its holster, turned off the safety, and waited.

Red was still unconscious, and the monitors sang in her ears as she watched him. Her body was alert for any threat, but her eyes continued to watch him, and she found herself unable to turn away. He was alive, but for some reason she continued to doubt this fact unless she had eyes on him. It was as if at any moment she expected to lose him. It made sense really, she decided. Almost losing him had done something to her, something that she didn't think was ever going to go away. She was baffled as to why the idea of losing him terrified her. He had single-handedly turned her life into upheaval, and yet…she just couldn't place why that simple thought didn't have her running the other way. Why was she so drawn to him?

He had a presence about him, she couldn't deny that. Small in stature, but so _big_ when he entered a room. It was as if the world became a bit smaller around him. Like he was an invincible being, though she knew that was a silly thought. No one was invincible, not even the infamous Raymond Reddington. Sure, he liked to appear as though he was, but he wasn't, not really.

The realization almost had her falling out of her chair.

Was _that_ why this was all so terrifying? Because someone had proven that he wasn't invincible? The rational part of her brain knew his invincibility was an act, something he portrayed to be in a position of power. It wasn't real. But on some level, she had been convinced that it was actually true. She had pictured him as this person so enveloped in protection, connections, and wealth that it was hard to see that under it all, he was just as human as everyone else. He always made it seem that getting out of impossible situations was natural, just another perk of being him. But it wasn't. It was just a lot of controlling his own circumstances, being well connected, and a hell of a lot of luck. _Emphasis on the 'luck' part_, she thought wryly. She smiled, picturing his reaction to such a thing. He'd be offended at such a notion.

"Too bad it's true," she whispered to him.

It wasn't just the thought that this great man wasn't invincible that had her in a state of constant terror. He was the one person that had all of the answers she wanted, and even those she didn't even know she wanted, as he had once said. Such an unsympathetic thing to think that she was terrified of losing information, but it was true to an extent. She wanted answers, badly. And the fact that only he could give them to her had her clinging on desperately. That was part of his game, of course. To keep her in the dark enough that she would want to keep him around. It had worked so well since this had all started, and it continued to keep her tied to him.

But now, it was starting to get to the point that answers weren't the only reason she wanted him to stay. He had offered to leave more than once, and at first she had thought her refusal to let him go was driven by her need for information. Now she found herself wondering, however, if it was something simpler.

Perhaps she wanted him to stay purely because she couldn't imagine her life without him in it.

She heard movement at the door, and she was out of her chair, gun at the ready, before a heartbeat had passed.

"No need for that, dearie; I assure you, you're quite intimidating, but I've seen better in my day," Mr. Kaplan said, walking into the room with her lips pursed and eyes zeroing in on Red.

"Mr. Kaplan," she replied with a smile, and lowered her gun. The woman was short and wiry, hair cropped to her chin and bespectacled, but Liz knew she could turn murderous in the blink of an eye. She was no harmless old lady, even though she looked it. Part of her appeal, Liz was sure. She hadn't seen the woman in a while, and she couldn't help but feel relief seeping through her at the thought of the little woman taking control.

"Good to see you again, but I'm afraid we'll have to make this short and sweet; dear Raymond here needs a bit of attention," she replied, and walking over to his head, she cupped his cheek and planted a kiss on his forehead. It was such a gentle, motherly gesture that Liz found herself gaping in shock. She knew they were close, but it was hard to imagine a hardened old lady like Mr. Kaplan display such a show of affection for the man.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked.

"You? I need you to go with Dembe; everything will be taken care of, but you are not going to be involved," she told her, and turned. "No use arguing, you know it's pointless. I have to take care of my employer, but your safety comes first."

Liz had been about to argue, but she was silenced by the woman's firm words, and simply nodded. Dembe had returned and was standing by the door, looking expectant. Grabbing the backpack and holstering her gun, she turned back to the man lying so vulnerable before her in the hospital bed, and she couldn't help feeling a need to stay by his side. Why the hell did he always get to make decisions regarding her safety? She was fully capable of handling herself.

"Time to go, dearie," Mr. Kaplan asserted, and when Liz didn't move, she patted her shoulder reassuringly. "He will be fine. But if you insist on not leaving right now, I'm going to have Dembe carry you out of here," she threatened, and that was enough to make Liz sigh in resignation. Moving past the cleaner, she went to Red's side and focused on his face, boring every detail into her mind's eye, though she could recall them in her sleep.

Leaning down, she placed a kiss on his smooth forehead and rested her own against his, eyes slipping closed as she breathed him in and reassured herself again that he was here, and he was alive.

"I won't leave you," she whispered, and without another word, she turned and followed Dembe out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Fully disclaimed. I wasn't sure where this was going at first, but it surprisingly came flowing out the longer I wrote. Looking up images of mansions and their interior was a lot of fun. Mr. Kaplan plays a bigger role in this chapter, and it was interesting to write her. We haven't seen much of her in the show, so I had to go off of what I knew and really think about her characterization. I promise there will be more Red in the next chapter, because up until now he's been laying around and not being his sassy self which is quite sad. I was mean at the end, and I hope I left you wanting more ;)**

As she slid into the black sedan, Liz released the breath she had been holding and sank into the tan leather. The car was like a swaddling blanket, comforting and safe. As Dembe pulled out of the parking lot, she looked over and felt her breath hitch in her chest.

There, sitting on the seat next to her, was the black fedora he'd been wearing.

She reached over and picked it up, turning it over in her hands and rubbing the smooth material between her fingers. Dembe must have grabbed it off of the ground. It was unblemished and looked relatively new. As she rotated it around and around by the brim, her mind wandered. The way it fell off of his head and tumbled forgotten onto the pavement made her chest feel as if it was being squeezed by a vice. But he was fine, she told herself. He was being taken care of, and he would recover. It may take a while, but he would.

Having the hat in her hands made her feel better to an extent. It gave her something to do as she worried the brim with her fingers, and it reassured her that he was going to want it back when he was better. She would keep it safe for him until it could be returned to his care.

Resting it on her knee, she picked up the backpack and put it on her lap. Samar had been cryptic back at the hospital, as if unable to speak what she wanted. No doubt it had something to do with the worry that anyone could hack into the video surveillance in the hospital. Clearly there was something more than just clothes in the backpack. She unzipped it and pulled out a simple set of clothes, along with a few toiletries. A brush, deodorant, a new toothbrush with a small tube of toothpaste, and a hair tie. Necessary items, for someone of the female variety. A smile spread across her face, and she felt grateful to the woman. Samar had known what was likely to happen, and she had set her up temporarily. She would need to get further supplies soon, of course, but this was enough for now.

Next she dug in and pulled out a burner phone. It was simple and would serve her well. At least she would have something to use in case of an emergency. She was confident that she would have no use for it, but it was always good to have. Her hand hit a folded piece of paper in the bottom of the bag when she reached back in, and her curiosity peaked as she unfolded it and read it.

"Well then," she murmured to herself, and stuffed it in her pocket, making a mental note to burn it later. Turning on the burner phone, she tapped in the information, hit save, and turned it back off. What Samar had given her would come in handy if she found herself in need of aid. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, but a backup plan couldn't hurt. Clearly Red had prepared for everything. Always having her safety and well-being in mind, no matter what state he was in. She may not like the fact that Samar was keeping tabs on her, but she had to admit that it wasn't without perks.

They drove for a long time. She looked out the window without really seeing, not particularly caring where they were going. Whether the safe house was far out of the city or Dembe was driving around to waste time she wasn't sure, but it was nice to sit and have a bit of quiet time to herself. Even if her mind was whirling and on the verge of giving her another headache—although now that she thought about it, her headache from before had never really gone away—the quiet was welcome. Driving had always had a soothing effect on her, ever since she was little. Sam had always joked that he would make bets with her on how long it would take her to fall asleep once she was in the car.

She always lost those bets.

Liz smiled as she thought that had Sam been here now, she would have lost again. It wasn't long before she felt herself being lulled into a sort of fitful wakefulness. She dosed, stirring on occasion to look out the window and watch the clock. After a few hours had passed, Dembe turned the car down a long gravel driveway off of a quiet country road. It had to be at least a mile long, she reasoned, and they twisted back and forth up the drive, surrounded by woods.

The car turned the last bend, and a large red brick mansion that sat tucked amongst the trees had her gaping in wonder. It was gorgeous—deep red with a pale gray roof and white accents, and was in the open enough that security would be ideal, yet concealed enough by trees and bushes that it gave a sense of privacy to the place. It was one of those hidden gems that you could only find if you knew where to look. No wonder they had chosen it; it was so far off of the beaten path that they could remain safe, at least for a time.

Other than a black SUV and a nondescript silver car, the grounds were empty and quiet. Dembe parked the sedan next to the silver car and was opening her door for her before she could protest. He briefly glanced at the backpack and fedora, but made no comment as he led her to an entrance at the back of the house. The back of the property was similar to the front, but Liz noticed a stream bubbling quietly at the bottom of the slope below the house. It wound through the trees and disappeared, and she couldn't help but pause for a minute and look at it. It was odd that it had drawn her attention; such things didn't usually register in her mind for more than a second. She watched it for a moment, marveling how it made this moment seem so serene and peaceful—a far cry from what was really going on.

Dembe placed a hand on her shoulder, and wordlessly she followed him up the steps to the screened porch that was attached to the back. A man she vaguely recognized as part of Red's security team greeted them at the door, a nod the only acknowledgement he gave them.

The house she stepped into was in some ways even more impressive than the outside. Tile flooring stretched before her in the large great room they entered. Coming from the back of the house, the double set of stairs arched and wound above her head, leading to the second floor. As she walked further in, big oak doors stood at the entrance to the house, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling. On either side of her the house extended into a right and left wing, and from a brief look she noticed carpeted halls that led into expensively furnished rooms. Raymond Reddington was a man of taste, and she felt a smile tug at her lips at the thought that if he was going to be laid up, he would insist that it was in style.

"Elizabeth, there you are."

Liz turned around and saw Mr. Kaplan making her way down the stairs on her left, a small smile on her lips. She looked utterly composed, as if she hadn't just managed to make the fourth most-wanted fugitive disappear without a trace. All in a day's work for her, Liz supposed.

"He's fine. All went well, we had little trouble," she answered, interrupting Liz before she could speak. "He has yet to regain full consciousness, but he did stir briefly once he was settled. We expect him to come around before too long, at least for short periods. He's pretty heavily drugged, so whenever he does manage to stubbornly fight unconsciousness it won't be for long." Her lips twisted at the thought and she shook her head with a sigh.

"Where is he?"

"Upstairs in one of the rooms. Let's get you settled in, and then we can discuss things further. Is that all you have?" Mr. Kaplan raised a brow questioningly, and Liz nodded. "Well, that'll have to do for now I suppose. Come along, dearie." With a wave to follow, she started back up the stairs, and Liz shared a brief glance with Dembe before slowly following. She hated leaving him, but he clearly had other business to attend to, disappearing into the right wing of the house.

The hallway was beautiful, with windows spaced evenly and letting in the filtered light from outside. Up here it was carpeted, and she felt her feet sink into the soft burgundy material as she walked. There were several doors along this hallway—they had taken a left after ascending—and Liz suddenly felt small. How on earth was she going to navigate this place? It was huge, and everything looked the same. As she walked, she counted doors and tried to burn the path into her mind. They turned down another hall branching off from the main one, and Mr. Kaplan stopped halfway down and opened a door on her right.

"I expect that this will be suitable? If not we can set you up somewhere else, but I felt as if this was the best location for you. Raymond is a few doors down," she said matter-of-factly, and Liz nodded with a grateful smile, stepping into what would be her room for the time being.

It was substantial in size, but not so big that she didn't feel safe. There was a large four-poster dominating the middle of the room, dressed in expensive sheets and a silky comforter. A large dresser with a mirror sat on one wall of the room near the bed, while a small bedside table sat closer on the other. A window gave her a view of the woods below, while on the far side of the room a fire place set into the wall was in between two doors. One led into a decent-sized walk in closet, while the other led to a pristine bathroom.

She wasn't one for expensive things and generally disliked the under-used feel of houses like this. They never felt like they were lived in, and functioned more like a dollhouse. Made to look pretty rather than be functional, and to feed vanity. This room, though…it was different. It was furnished nicely, but there was a well-thought out feel to it. The thought that this room had been designed with her in mind irked her. Likely just a coincidence, but was there really ever any coincidences when it came to Reddington? In all her time with him, she knew him to be meticulous, detail-oriented, and he thrived on being in control and always being ahead of people. It wouldn't surprise her if he had a room set up for her.

They always had safe houses at the ready, and the thought that he had prepared a room for her here made her stomach twist in an odd way. No matter how many times he told—and showed—her that he cared greatly for her, she still found herself unable to believe it at times. The lengths he was willing to go for her had her biting her lip, trying to hold her emotions in. It wasn't just the room, either—it was that damn bullet through his chest that had tears threatening at her eyes. He hadn't jumped in front of her or pushed her out of the way, but he had still taken the bullet as a direct result of trying to protect her. Why was she so damn stubborn? She infuriated herself sometimes. It was like some sort of defense mechanism that she resorted to when she felt vulnerable, and all it did was endanger people.

Her hands made fists at her side and she slowly let out a breath. It was doing no good standing here chastising herself. All it did was push her closer to the edge that she was dancing on, and right now was not the time to be wallowing in an emotional cesspool. Realizing that she had crumpled the fedora in her hand, she uncurled her fists and carefully smoothed out the fabric. Red's face at the thought of one of his precious hats being treated so roughly distracted her, and she turned to Mr. Kaplan with a forced smile.

"It's perfect, thank you."

"I'll leave you in peace for now. Meet me downstairs in an hour," she instructed, and closed the door behind her retreating form.

An hour. She had an hour to get herself together without any eyes on her. No doubt the room was being monitored—it was stupid not to have surveillance in a house this size—but she knew there was one place she could retreat to without fear of being watched. Setting the hat on the dresser beside the bed, she locked herself in the bathroom and sat down with her back against the door. _One hour. It's time to pull yourself together, Liz. Shit happens, and it's time to deal with it_, she told herself firmly. Pushing herself off of the floor, she gripped the sink and looked at herself in the mirror.

It was a wonder no one had said anything. Despite cleaning up at the hospital, she looked like shit. Samar's earlier comment hadn't been unwarranted, and she smiled grimly. Clearly she was no Raymond Reddington, who looked well-manicured no matter the situation he was in. What a lucky bastard.

First a shower, she decided, and after spending a few minutes trying to figure out how to dial-in the correct settings—really, was technology required for _everything_?—she stepped in and let the hot water soothe her aching muscles and clean both her mind and body. Feeling refreshed afterward, she quickly dressed and made use of the toiletries Samar had provided. It felt good to be looking presentable again, and doing such a normal routine gave her some comfort. The clothes Samar had given her were simple but functional, and she had to admit that she looked well put together. The top was a light, floaty material, white in color. Dark wash jeans completed the outfit, and she looked surprisingly…normal. It was an odd feeling. She didn't get much downtime outside of the Post Office, and when she did she mostly stayed home. Being out of her work clothes felt liberating and foreign at the same time.

Per the clock hanging on the wall, she now had ten minutes before her presence was expected. Deciding that the bathroom was too hot and steamy to stand being in any longer, she padded out into the room and picked up the fedora again. An odd urge to try it on came over her, and she palmed it on her head, turning to look in the mirror. A laugh bubbled out of her, and she couldn't get over how silly she looked. Cute in a way, she supposed…but definitely not something she would be caught in out in public. She would leave the fedora-wearing to Reddington. He made it look like it was designed for him anyway.

Setting it back on the dresser, she looked over at the bedside clock and realized that it was time to make her way downstairs. Keeping the door open a crack so that she could find her way back, she wandered to the end of the hallway and took a right, mentally retracing her steps back to the double grand staircase. Mr. Kaplan was standing at the bottom, waiting patiently.

"Much better, dearie. Let me show you the kitchen. I've made us some tea and we can sit and admire the view while we chat," she said with a smile, and Liz followed her to the right wing of the house.

The kitchen itself was a large, open space with an island in the middle and all of the cabinets and all of the appliances one could ever need or want. She imagined that it was a cook's dream, but it wasn't all that appealing to her. Seeing as she didn't cook, anything other than the microwave was something that she didn't dare go near. The one time she had tried to boil water it had bubbled over and created a mess, and since then she had avoided using the stove or any other appliance as much as possible. It was why she did take-out most of the time, not to mention the fact that having someone else cook for you was so much easier.

Two steaming cups of tea sat on the island, and they pulled up stools, looking out the large windows and out onto the property. Having an open-style kitchen certainly did have its perks, although Liz wasn't sure if she could ever grow used to so much space. Sipping the tea, she didn't realize how little to eat or drink she'd had in the last several hours. It had been such an afterthought, but now that she noticed, her stomach clenched unhappily and she grimaced. Food was going to have to be acquired soon, although the thought of eating made her ill. The sun was beginning to set, and with a start she looked at the clock and realized it was late evening; her brain hadn't even registered the time. Funny how time seemed to slip by when you didn't notice.

"Dembe has given me his account of what happened, but I'd like to hear it from you," Mr. Kaplan began, and Liz gave a brief nod before turning to look at her.

"We were meeting on a side street. It was open, buildings on either side…I was just trying to think of some place we could meet away from prying eyes. I realize now how stupid the whole setup was; I wasn't thinking. I was acting on emotion and letting it cloud my judgment. Me, a federal agent, trained to avoid those exact situations." She gave a harsh laugh and shook her head slowly. "I was never supposed to be a damn field agent, yet here I am, on a special task force all because of _him_." Her finger made circles around the edge of the teacup as she talked, her eyes trailing away from Mr. Kaplan's gaze to look out the window. It was hard to look at her.

"Tom had told me things that I didn't want to believe, but I had to find out for myself whether or not he was telling the truth. So I called Reddington and set up the meeting, told him it was about the Fulcrum. It wasn't, not really, I just wanted answers. I figured I would bring it along, and if he was honest with me I had decided that I was going to give it to him. I thought…" she trailed off and swallowed, taking a steadying breath. "I thought he was going to tell me that Tom was lying, that he…that he hadn't given him the passports. I trusted him enough that I never _believed_ he would—"

She cut off with a choked sound, struggling to hold in her emotions. This was going to be harder than she realized. Here she had thought that the past few hours had prepared her to come to terms with it all, but clearly that wasn't the case. Mr. Kaplan patted her hand reassuringly and gave her an encouraging look.

"What did he tell you?" she asked gently.

"He told me—he told me that he was the one who hired Tom to enter my life," she replied shakily, and gripped the cup in front of her. "My brain just shut down. I was so surprised that I just yelled at him when he tried to explain. I didn't want to hear any of it. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, so I shoved the Fulcrum at him and ran. And then…then suddenly he was down and bleeding everywhere and I was just acting on impulse." She looked up at the woman beseechingly, hoping she understood.

Mr. Kaplan was quiet for a moment, lips pursed and a thoughtful look on her face. She nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision, and held Liz's gaze.

"My employer has had a target on his back for a while now. He's known for a long time something like this could happen. It's not your fault, but I have to tell you that I believe you could have handled things differently. Throwing caution to the wind should not be your style, nor is it his. He has a blind spot when it comes to you, and I hope this has made you realize what harm that can bring a person like him. You must know by now that your life is of great importance to him." She took a sip of her tea and gave her a pointed look before continuing. "This is becoming more involved than we once believed. It is not enough anymore that he protects you; you must also protect him. Trust is a funny thing; it takes a long time to gain, and mere seconds to destroy. You'd do well to remember that."

Liz stared at the woman. That last bit sounded like something that could have come straight out of Red's own mouth. Was she saying to trust him? She had some form of trust, but it didn't extend deeper than knowing that he did not lie to her. Even today of all days when he could have lied, he didn't. Beyond that, though…she found it hard to trust him with all that was unsaid between them. Yet did she really have a choice in this case? Red's life was still on the line, and if they were going to face this new threat then they'd have to be able to trust one another and be on equal footing.

First, she had to get him to talk. That in and of itself was going to be hard as hell.

"I know I should have listened to him. Trusted that he had my best interests at heart. I shouldn't have manipulated him by using the Fulcrum to get answers. But after living a lie for nearly 3 years, you can understand why his refusal to give me the information that I desired had me less than willing to trust him," Liz replied quietly. "I know I act childish when I don't get my way and I have to be dependent on someone. I hate having to rely on anyone other than myself. I can't help it, it's just who I am. I also don't trust easily and have been trained not to trust a criminal. I'm making excuses, but it's the truth."

Liz stalled by sipping her tea and avoiding meeting Mr. Kaplan's piercing gaze. When she got up the courage to look at her, she was surprised to see a sympathetic look on the woman's face.

"If there is anyone you can trust in your life, it is Raymond. I know he keeps things from you, but he's trying his best to facilitate your well-being. It's killing him, but he knows it must be done. He doesn't enjoy keeping you in the dark, I assure you. It would be easier if it were all out in the open, yet…I know why he does what he does. His intent is pure, even if his actions may speak otherwise. You need to come to realize these things in your own time, but as someone who has known Raymond for years, I hope my assurances will give you something to think on." Finishing her tea, Mr. Kaplan hopped off of the stool and took their cups to the sink.

Liz stood in silence and waited while the cleaner put the cups in the dishwasher and came to join her once again.

"From what the doctors told me, he should be stirring here soon. I'm guessing you'll want to see him?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Come along then, dearie."

Liz followed her back the way she had come down earlier, and they stopped a few doors down from her own room. Mr. Kaplan ushered her in, and she stopped abruptly when she entered.

She thought seeing him at the hospital had been disconcerting, but seeing him lying in a normal bed hooked up to the monitors, IVs, and dressed in nothing but a zip-up hoodie with blankets piled on top of him made her heart squeeze all over again. It was almost as if she hadn't been expecting it, even though she knew it was a ridiculous thought. It must be the normality of the room, she decided. You expected to see injured people in the hospital, not in their own bed.

Mr. Kaplan gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder, and motioned to the nurse sitting by his bed, as well as the guard stationed near the door.

"We'll be just outside if you need us. Remember, he's not long out of surgery and is still heavily drugged," Mr. Kaplan reminded her pointedly. Translation: be kind and don't push anything. Liz nodded and watched the door close behind them.

She cautiously walked up to the bed, taking in every detail of his face again. Looking at his features calmed her, and she focused on keeping her breathing even. He was alive. It probably hurt like hell and he was going to have a long recovery, but he would live. Ever so gently, she sank onto the bed beside him and took his hand in both of hers, gently massaging it and tracing the lines. She knew she was fidgeting, but hopefully it brought him some comfort to feel the presence of another hand in his drugged state.

Uncertain of how long she sat there, she continued to knead his hand, her eyes unfocused and her mind wandering. Her senses must have picked something up, because suddenly she realized that his breathing had quickened, as had his heart monitor.

She looked down and saw two green eyes boring into her.

"_Lizzie_."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys! I am so sorry that I've taken so long to update. This was already written before 2x18, but then put on the back burner because the rest of the season was _crazy_ (no I am still not over the finale) and life has gotten in the way. My muse was also asleep for a while, and I tried to find more to add to this chapter but I feel like it stopped where it was naturally meant to. Their conversation deserved its own chapter, it seems. I plan to wrap this up with an epilogue, so stay tuned for that. You may be mad at where I ended this, but hey, not everything can be fluffy and it was an angsty last bit of the season. Since this was written before revelations in 2x18 and onward, any similarities to canon are an accident. There was influence from discussions on Tumblr and Facebook regarding the reasons why Red hired Tom, but nothing from the show itself. Anyway, hope you enjoy, even if it is shorter than the last chapters!**

**Fully disclaimed.**

She was supposed to be mad at him. No, _infuriated _with him.

He had lied about Tom. Maybe not directly, but he had so conveniently negated to tell her one very important, crucial fact: _he was the one who hired him_. All of the emotional and yes, physical, abuse she had suffered from Tom, and it was _all his fault_. If he hadn't hired Tom in the first place, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have had her faith and trust in men shattered, her life crumbling in shambles around her as she watched helplessly. It couldn't have been as simple as Berlin hiring Tom to enter her life to get back at Red. No, it had to be a hell of a lot more complicated than that. Now, she had to deal with the betrayal of the one person she thought would always look out for her best interests. He had a funny way of showing it sometimes, but she had always felt safe with him.

He had shattered whatever faith and trust she had in him. It had been conditional and at times obligatory, but it had existed. Now it was nearly non-existent, and she didn't know how the hell they were going to get past this. She wanted to believe they could, but she didn't know if she would ever be able to trust him again.

She had promised she would listen. That much was owed to him. Beyond that, she didn't have a clue what she would do.

Stubbornly, she reminded herself again that she was _mad_ and he was _a monster_, but the accusations she had been meaning to throw at him shriveled up when he spoke her name.

"_Lizzie_."

Her hand gripped his tighter, unbidden. Those green eyes of his, although a bit glassy, were just as knowing and full of depth as ever. They searched her face before quickly looking her over, once, twice, three times—looking at every inch of her. Normally she would have been uncomfortable with such a gaze from him, but this time it was anything but sexual. It was almost as if he was reassuring himself that she was actually there, and not a hallucination. He seemed to lose a bit of tension in his chest, and sighed softly, holding her gaze once again.

"Lizzie." Her name passed his lips once again, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, his brow furrowing slightly. For once, she could read the varying emotions crossing his face. He made no effort to hide them. Wonder, confusion, relief. Pain…yes, there was the pain she had expected to see. It wasn't just physical this time, she knew; the drugs hadn't worn off enough yet that he'd be too uncomfortable. It was emotional pain. As she watched, it changed to sorrow—sorrow so deep that she could almost see it consuming his very soul. He was like an open wound—raw and bloody.

Her chest tightened so much that she found herself struggling to keep her breathing regular. How was it that he could have this much of an effect on her? Seeing him in such pain made her feel like she was in pain, too. Why? Why did she have to feel this way? This whole thing was so complicated that she could barely begin to grasp at the threads that tethered them together. She cared about him, yes, but to what end? He was a criminal. He was toxic. As it stood now, their relationship was anything other than healthy. She _shouldn't_ feel this way. What the hell was wrong with her?

As she sat there, thoughts going a million miles an hour, her face must have reflected some of what was going through her head. As she watched, his face smoothed and the mask dropped into place, and he grew very still.

"What are you doing here?"

It took her a moment before she could gather herself enough to answer. The way he said it…it was almost as if the last thing he had expected was to see her beside him. He didn't necessarily sound happy about it, either. What was she doing here? Making sure he didn't _die_, that's what.

"You were shot."

"You have admirable observation skills, Lizzie."

"I wasn't going to let you lay there bleeding out. So I helped Dembe get you out of there and treated, then you were moved here for your own safety. I was ordered to stay with you, so here I am," she replied matter-of-factly, feeling prickly after his jab at her intelligence. It wasn't the truth, of course, but he didn't have to know that. She doubted he expected to hear anything else, so she played along for the time being. It was easier this way, anyway; she didn't want to face what she was feeling just yet. It made her head hurt just thinking about it.

It was easier for both of them to accept that it was business that drove her actions. Neither one of them was in a place to think about any other option at the moment.

"Under orders." He closed his eyes and grimaced as he took a breath, then gave a small nod before looking at her again. "How much do they know?"

"Nothing beyond the fact that you've been shot, and your people have made you disappear. We knew whoever ordered the hit would come after you again, so we had to act quickly. Mr. Kaplan took care of everything. I don't even know where we are," she confessed, and frowned in thought. "Somewhere in the country, judging by the rural area we drove through. I wasn't told anything. Just shuttled away like precious cargo."

His mouth twitched as a ghost of a smile threatened to appear, and looked carefully neutral under her pointed gaze.

"The less you know, the safer you are. Kate and Dembe understand this. I don't like keeping things from you, Lizzie, but sometimes situations are out of my control and I have no choice."

"You're going to have to come up with a different strategy. Every time you tell me that, the more like bullshit it sounds."

He huffed out a laugh, wincing as he did so, but his eyes looked amused.

"Maryland. We're in an old century house that I bought off some investor who bit off more than he could chew. Poor man didn't know how to play the market. Interesting place, don't you think?"

"It's big."

"Mansions usually are." He looked down then, seemingly realizing that she was holding his hand. She felt heat rise to her face but didn't move; instead, she looked around the room, noticing how similar it was to her own. It was more to his tastes, as far as furnishings went. Simple and elegant, with a little flair for the dramatic here and there. Perfectly suited to a man like him.

She could feel his eyes on her. Looking around the room and pretending nonchalance only worked for so long. Blue eyes met green as she turned back to him, and he was looking at her like he was preparing to tell her something. Her stomach twisted painfully and she struggled to keep control. She knew exactly what he was about to tell her, and she didn't know if she was ready to listen. Did she _want_ to know? Of course. But she was terrified at what the truth would do to her. She had been so ready, had prepped herself mentally for this moment before he had stirred to wakefulness…but now, she found that she was lost at sea without knowing how to swim.

"Lizzie, when I hired Tom—"

"Red, don't—"

"_When I hired Tom_, it was never to be your husband," he went on forcefully, completely ignoring her attempts to stop his explanation. Her mouth snapped shut and she pulled her hands away from his, clenching them together on her lap. It seemed as though she didn't have a choice. He wasn't giving her one this time. His forwardness surprised her; he usually respected her wishes, more or less, and never tried to override her. This time was different and glued her to her seat, which she knew was exactly what his angle was.

He didn't seem surprised at her retraction, but rather continued to look at her intently, and plunged on, "No, never, ever to be that…_close_." His jaw clenched and his eyes hardened. " He was hired to be an asset for me. A friend that would see you often enough that he could give me updates on your life. To watch over you. To protect you. Someone that could be at your side more quickly than I could, and could get you out of danger. Someone that you knew and felt you could trust and you wouldn't question taking care of you. That is why I hired Tom."

She found herself unable to speak. His expression was a mix of pain and hope as he fell silent and looked at her, waiting for a reaction.

So he hadn't hired Tom to be her husband. Fair enough. But he had still put him in her life, which was a decision that had screwed her over so much that she wasn't sure she was ready to come to terms with it. Once again he had done something that had deeply hurt her. Had he meant it? No, of course not. That much was obvious. Still, it didn't change the fact that he had done it, nor did it erase the pain of it all.

"You must know that it was probably one of the worst decisions I have ever come to make. It was why I entered your life. When I learned that Tom had turned and things had become intimate, I made the decision to get my affairs in order and surrender to the FBI. We…met…and here we are now."

He hesitated on the word "met" like it wasn't quite what he wanted to say. It was almost as if he wanted to add something else, but he stayed quiet.

"Is that all?"

His mouth pressed into a thin line. "About Tom? Yes."

There he went again, avoiding the bigger question. He knew exactly what she was asking and was choosing instead to give her the answer that he felt he could give. As usual, he was never telling her everything. Were the secrets ever going to end? She was sick and tired of it all. He had his reasons for keeping certain things from her, but she wished she could just know it all. Whether it would put her in danger or not was for her to decide, not him. As flattering as it was that he was so concerned with her well-being, it was infuriating the way he went about it.

This was all one big, complicated mess. She needed time to think.

Pushing herself off the bed, being careful not to jostle him, she turned and faced him. He was looking at her thoughtfully and seemingly bracing himself. Likely for the angry outburst he was expecting.

"Thank you. For telling me the truth," she told him quietly, and gave him a sad smile, telling him what words could not convey.

"Lizzie—"

"I need time, Red."

The look on his face was almost more than she could bear. The pain, guilt, _love_…she had to get away. To get away from this emotionally raw and vulnerable man and compose herself. Neither of them were in a place to come to terms with anything right now. Fighting back tears, she clenched her jaw firmly and walked out the door.

The sound of the closing door echoed throughout the house as she slid to the floor and curled in on herself, tears flowing freely and silently down her cheeks.


	5. Epilogue

**A/N: Well...this is it! The ending of this fun little fic. I hope you all enjoyed it. I know I did! I had this planned out in my head for a while (although these two decided to make it their own, as usual), and today I sat down and churned it out as a challenge from the Lizzington Shippers FB page for FanFiction Day. I hope I did it justice. I may or may not have borrowed a certain scene with some add-ons, because I just couldn't help myself. You'll know what scene I'm talking about when you read it. No spoilers from me! ;) Enjoy!**

Two weeks later found Liz standing at his door again, watching silently as he packed.

He moved slowly and cautiously, being careful not to hurt his chest. He had healed to the point where he could function, but he was by no means back to normal yet. That would take time, and for that he needed safety, at least as much as he could get in his line of work.

He needed to go away.

She knew this, yet she still found herself asking the obvious question, as if perhaps the answer would change simply because she asked directly.

"You're leaving?"

He straightened and looked at her in amusement, his brows lifting.

"Why else would I be putting myself through the abhorrent task of packing? Yes, I'm leaving. It's time for me to go away, Lizzie."

He wasn't close to finishing, and Liz sighed as she walked over to the bed and picked up one of his dress shirts, folding it neatly and handing it to him. He took it silently, his lips quirking, and tucked it into one of his suitcases. For twenty minutes they packed in silence, and Liz couldn't help but notice how they easily fell into a rhythm as they worked. They were one unit, working quickly and effectively, much like how they operated on a case. Even when they weren't on good terms they still worked well together, and when they _were_ on good terms…well, that was something to see.

Ressler was her partner on the task force and they worked quite efficiently and made a good team. But comparing her partnership with Ressler to that of hers with Red was like comparing a candle flame to a fire. It just wasn't the same.

They finished, and Liz leaned against the bed frame as Red walked over to his ever-present bottle of scotch on the table and poured them each a drink. She took it readily when he held it out to her, and downed it in one swig. Surprise lit his face, but he said nothing as he took a sip of his own and watched her.

"I've come to a decision." She slowly twirled her glass around, watching as the drops left over came together into one and circled around the bottom. Avoiding his gaze, she walked over and poured herself more, downing it again and turning to face him.

"Don't tell me you've decided to take it upon yourself to drink my entire bottle of scotch? Ordinarily I wouldn't mind, Lizzie, but in this case it's rather effective for my healing. I'd hate to be out of it, and with the way you're currently drinking, I may be in trouble of that happening." His expression of mock concern elicited a smile to creep across her face, and she snorted in amusement.

"No. Besides, there's more than enough down in the cellar to quench your thirst. I've seen it, so don't you try and guilt-trip me into thinking otherwise."

"You went to the cellar?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Why on earth would you go down there?"

"I was bored. We're getting away from the point here, Red. I've come to a decision regarding Tom."

The expression that crossed his face almost made her wish she hadn't said a word. But this needed to be resolved, and now. Time had run out.

She walked over and stood in front of him, and reached out to take his hand. He cocked his head to the side in that way of his when he was considering something, but stayed silent.

"Red…you need to understand something. Tom was my whole world. I loved him, and I thought that if I just had him to keep me sane that my life would make a little more sense. It wasn't enough to find out that he had lied, cheated, and abused me throughout our marriage. Of course that couldn't be all," she practically spat, and her voice was like acid. She felt him involuntarily pull back a bit, and worked to calm her voice. This wasn't supposed to be a verbal assault on him. Once she had steadied herself, she went on: "No, then I come to find out that he had not only been inserted into my life for a purpose, but by _you_. Can you imagine how I felt, Red? I know things have never been easy between us, but I had come to a level of trust with you, and then just like Tom it turned out that you were not who I thought you were." Her voice had gotten smaller as she talked, and she felt her throat constrict with emotion. This was so hard. Why was this so hard?

"Lizzie, please, I _never_, _ever_ meant to hurt you. That's the last thing I—" He cut himself off and closed his eyes, his jaw working. "I know it was wrong of me, what I did," he continued, opening his eyes and looking at her imploringly. "I will live the rest of my life with the guilt that I was directly involved in the physical and emotional pain that you went through with him. If I could go back and change it, I would. Please, you have to understand—"

"I do understand," she said quietly, and squeezed his hand. "I know you'll never stop blaming yourself for all of this, that you would do anything to take it back. I know it came from a place of…good intentions, even if those good intentions were not necessarily what I would call…_normal_…" she hesitated on the last word, wondering if it was too harsh. It wasn't exactly what she wanted to say, but she couldn't think of another word to use. When she looked up at him though, she knew he understood. Most people would not insert someone into another's life to ensure their safety. But he wasn't most people, and she knew that his actions came from a desperate place where he felt like he had no other options. For reasons she hadn't yet ascertained, he was determined nearly to the point of obsession to keep her from harm. It was messed up, yes—but she understood it, and more or less accepted it.

"I know I'm a monster, Lizzie. I'm reminded of that every time I look at you."

_No._ No. He was _not _a monster. Not to her. Would he ever realize that?

"You are anything but a monster, Raymond Reddington. You are screwed up, sure, but _you are not a monster._" She spoke those last words so vehemently that Red was left speechless. Her glass was gripped so tightly in her hand that her knuckles had gone white, and she consciously tried to relax it. The last thing she needed was to break it and slice her hand open. That would really just be the icing on the cake. She focused on the warmth in her left hand from his, and slowly her right hand relaxed around the glass. With a sigh she plunged on: "I told you I had come to a decision, so here it is: I've decided to forgive you. I know you were not the only one at fault here. Tom made his own decisions, and Berlin made his. Even I failed to recognize Tom for what he was. No, don't try to tell me this isn't my fault," she said, shutting down his protest. "I should have listened to you and to what my instincts were telling me. That being said…it's going to take me more time to fully come to terms with this. I have to learn to trust again. Trusting people is already hard for me, and right now there's no one I really trust. Do you understand? Things aren't going to go back to how they were before all of this."

"I wouldn't expect them to," he replied softly, and slipped his hand away from hers, raising it to brush her hair behind her ear and cradle her cheek. She raised her own to cover it, and closed her eyes, leaning into the warmth.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he shook his head softly, meeting her gaze with a smile.

"No, Lizzie. You've given me another chance. I won't ever stop being grateful for that. It's more than I could have asked for. More than I…deserve." He leaned in and kissed her forehead, resting his against hers for a moment, their breaths mingling, before pulling away. He left her standing there as he set his glass on the dresser and crossed and picked up his bags, setting them gently by the door and sending a quick text—likely to Dembe—before turning back to her. The sudden lack of warmth and his presence made her nearly gasp with loss. She longed to be close to him again, a feeling that before he had gotten shot she had not acknowledged. Now she could no longer push it away; it was too strong.

"Red, what are you—"

"It's time for me to go, Lizzie. You know that. I need time to recover, establish a presence over my business that has been lacking as of late, and I need to disappear to keep out of the Cabal's crosshairs. The attempt on my life was their doing, I have no doubt. I have work to do. Work that I can't do here with the FBI breathing down my back and you being a vulnerability." He looked infinitely sad as he said this, and Liz felt the urge to just hold him. Not just to comfort him, but to keep him from leaving.

"You're leaving me." It was a statement, not a question, and her voice broke on the last word. He couldn't leave when they'd finally reached a resolution. He may have work to do, but she did too, and she could _help_ him, dammit. She stalked angrily over to the bottle of scotch, downed another glass, and then slammed it down on the table, fixing him with a glare. "You're not leaving."

"Yes, I am. This is not up for discussion, Elizabeth."

"Like hell it's not. If you're leaving, then I'm coming with you."

This stopped him as if he'd run straight into a brick wall. He looked stunned for a minute—clearly he had not been expecting that—before giving a sharp shake of his head.

"_No_."

"Let me guess: I'd be safer here, right? Surrounded by the FBI—where it's highly likely that higher-ups are involved with the Cabal—and a personal protection detail for me to keep me 'safe.' I hate to break it to you, Red, but it sounds like I'm going to be in danger wherever I am." She crossed the room and stood in the doorway, crossing her arms and stubbornly refusing to move.

"If you leave with me you'll only become a fugitive. You don't know how hard I've worked to keep you out of my filth. I don't want you involved with this. Go back to the FBI, back to the task force—you'll be safe there. People in the FBI may be involved, but at least with them you'll have an extra layer of protection. With me gone they won't touch you. You're of no use to them. I've secured certain…assurances for you. You'll be questioned but you won't be touched. Leave with me and you become a target. _I will not have that_." He had been calm, but he was practically growling by the end. Clearly she had hit a nerve.

"Oh really?" she shot back. "And what do you suppose happens when you aren't around to make sure those assurances stay in place? You seem to think that you can control everything, but you _can't_. The minute you disappear, our deal with you ceases to exist. Without you around I'm in more danger than if you stayed. Do you think they don't know, Red? Do you _really think_ they don't know that I went to extreme lengths to keep you alive? That we mean more to each other than colleagues should? Even if that wasn't a factor, they are incessantly trying to figure out what our connection is. With you here they hesitate to pry, because they know what you're capable of. But with you gone…it's not going to stop. I can't fight them from within the system, Red. I can't do anything without you."

There were tears in her eyes, and he was staring at her with a look she couldn't place. He knew she was right. He was clearly afraid. But what was he more afraid of: her being in danger, or her becoming like _him_?

"You once told me that I all I had to do was ask, and you'd be gone," she said softly, relaxing her posture and looking at him pleadingly. "Now I'm asking you this: _stay_. If not, take me with you."

"You'll be charged with aiding and abetting a high profile criminal," he stated after a moment.

"I know."

"You will lose your job, your respectability, your life."

"Yes."

"You will not be able to go back to how things were before, no matter how hard you try."

"Your point? Red, listen to me. My life is already destroyed. All I have is my work. And you. The funny thing is I can't have one without the other. I can't work if you're not here. Quite frankly I don't _want_ to work if you aren't around. I'll be stuck at a desk somewhere in the bureau with mounds of paperwork and live in a little apartment all by myself. Sounds rather boring, doesn't it?" she teased gently, but he didn't smile back at her. So much for lightening the mood.

"Look, I'm going to be in danger whether I come with you or stay here. You have put me through more shit these past two years than I've ever had to deal with, but we've done a lot of good. I may be in danger when you're around, but I'm also safest with you. It's like a double-edged sword. We have to learn how to balance on it, and we can't do that if I'm here and you're God knows where. Don't do this to me. I don't think I could handle it."

If logic wouldn't work, perhaps appealing to his emotional side would. If he thought going away and leaving her here would hurt her more than taking her with him, maybe he would agree to it. As it turned out, however, it was a combination of both tactics.

He sighed and worked his jaw, finally giving a jerking nod. "We're leaving in five minutes. Be downstairs with your things or I'm leaving you here." He scooped up his bags and brushed past her, not giving her a second glance.

"I guess it's a good thing I pack light," she responded in an overly bright tone, purposefully trying to annoy him, and grabbed her already-packed bag that was sitting by her door as she followed him down the hallway.

Dembe had the car pulled up to the door, and silently took their bags and packed them away. Mr. Kaplan was there, and Red pulled her into a hug. She kissed his cheeks and smiled widely at him.

"Don't be a stranger, dearie. Keep me updated. And if you get yourself shot again, I'm going to come find you and shoot you myself."

"Kate, I don't tend to stomach threats like that very well. You're lucky I'm fond of you," he replied with a laugh, and turned to open the car door. He gestured to Liz with a quirky little smile and said, "Shall we be going?"

"Give me a minute." She turned to Mr. Kaplan, and she accepted Liz's hug without complaint, a smile crossing her face. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

"Any time, dearie. Take care of him," she murmured into her ear in reply, and Liz nodded.

"I will." She gave Mr. Kaplan's hand a squeeze before she stepped away and slid into the back seat of the car. Red slid in on the other side and settled himself as Dembe pulled away from the house.

They sat in comfortable silence, and after a moment Liz slid over and leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulder with a sigh. He curled his arm around her in response, and she felt the tension in both of their bodies drain away as they disappeared.


End file.
